Chapter 15: A Farewell in a Dream

A Farewell in a Dream

Among the younger generation of our extended family, Aqiang—my older cousin on my father’s side—was the one closest to our household. His parents had died when he was young, and he had been raised by his maternal uncle ever since. But except when he was at school, he loved coming to our house for festivals and holidays, as well as during summer and winter breaks. My mother treated him even more dearly than her own son. The best food always went to him first, and she would have clothes ready for him well before the seasons changed. He was just as attached to her, calling her “Auntie” in the sweetest voice, always rushing to do the household chores. He was more considerate than I was.

That winter, Aqiang had just turned twenty. He was riding with his maternal uncle in a long-haul truck, hauling freight between north and south. A few days before they set out, he came to our house for dinner. As he dug into the red-braised pork in his bowl, he said to my mother, “Auntie, when I come back from this run, I’ll bring you some oranges from the south. They’re really sweet!”

My mother laughed and patted him on the back of the head. “Be careful on the road. Do you have enough money? If not, Auntie can give you some.”

He waved his hand. “I have enough, plenty. My uncle has already prepared everything. Don’t worry!”

None of us imagined that this would be the last proper conversation we ever had with him.

Seven days after he left, our telephone suddenly rang in the middle of the night, its shrill peal slicing through the silence. My father shot out of bed to answer it. On the other end was one of his maternal uncle’s coworkers, his voice choked with tears.

“Brother, something’s happened! Aqiang and his uncle were in an accident on the highway. Their truck was involved in a rear-end collision. They’re in the hospital receiving emergency treatment, and they urgently need money for surgery. You have to find a way—quickly!”

My father’s face turned deathly pale. As soon as he hung up, he began rummaging through drawers and cupboards to scrape together money. My mother was awake too, helping him look for the bankbooks while wiping away her tears.

“How could this happen? He was perfectly fine before he left…”

At the first light of dawn, my father tucked the money inside his clothes and caught the earliest coach to the hospital in the neighboring province. Before leaving, he told my mother, “Don’t worry. I’ll call when I get there. Take care of things at home.”

My mother was beside herself all day. She sat on the sofa staring at the telephone, and the needlework in her hands dropped to the floor several times. I urged her to lie down for a while, but she shook her head.

“I’ll wait here. If your father calls, I can answer right away.”

She barely ate any dinner. After taking only two mouthfuls of rice, she put down her chopsticks and stared fixedly at the door, as though she were waiting for someone.

That night, my mother tossed and turned in bed, unable to sleep. Her mind was filled with images of Aqiang as a child: his timid look the first time he came to our house, the endearing sight of his cheeks puffed out as he ate red-braised pork, and the sight of him drenched in sweat as he carried water for her with a shoulder pole… As she thought of these things, she gradually drifted into a hazy sleep.

She did not know how much time had passed when she felt the bedroom door being gently pushed open and a familiar boyish presence drifting in. She opened her eyes and saw Aqiang standing beside the bed in his favorite blue jacket. A faint smile rested on his face. He looked just as he usually did, except that he was somewhat pale.

“Auntie, I’m back.” Aqiang’s voice was as warm as ever, with a soft, childlike lilt.

My mother’s heart leapt with joy. She sat up and reached for his hand. “Aqiang, thank goodness you’re all right! How is the uncle you were traveling with? Your other uncle just left to bring you both the money—he may not have arrived yet…”

But Aqiang took a step back and shook his head, his eyes full of sorrow at parting. “Auntie, I’m going now. I couldn’t finish this run.”

My mother’s heart lurched, and a sense of foreboding washed over her. “What are you talking about? What do you mean, going? Are you badly hurt? Don’t be afraid. Auntie will go see you right now!”

“Auntie, don’t be sad.” Aqiang’s voice was soft, as if a gust of wind could scatter it. “I only came back to say goodbye. Take good care of yourself. Don’t grieve for me, and don’t let my uncle wear himself out over me. I’m doing fine over there. I just miss your red-braised pork a little.”

After saying this, he bowed deeply to my mother, then turned and headed for the door. My mother tried to call him back, but no matter how hard she tried, she could not make a sound. She could only watch helplessly as his figure disappeared through the doorway. The bedroom door gently closed, as if he had never been there at all.

My mother woke from the dream with a start, her tears already soaking the pillow. In her heart, she knew exactly what Aqiang had meant when he said he was going. She sat on the bed, hugging the quilt and weeping soundlessly, until the telephone rang again just before dawn.

It was my father. His voice was unbearably hoarse, strained with suppressed sobs.

“Mother, Aqiang… Aqiang is gone. They couldn’t save him. The doctor just told us…”

Holding the receiver, my mother was strangely calm, though her tears kept falling. “I know.”

“You know?” My father was taken aback.

“Aqiang came back last night,” my mother said, choking back sobs. “He came to say goodbye. He said he was going and told me to take care of myself and not to be sad. He also said he missed my red-braised pork…”

My father fell silent on the other end. Only after a long while did a muffled sob come through the receiver. He said that when the accident happened, Aqiang had desperately shielded his uncle. His uncle was seriously injured, but Aqiang had stopped breathing at the scene. He was still clutching half of a biscuit he had not finished, one my mother had pressed into his hand before he left.

Later, Aqiang’s funeral arrangements were kept simple. My mother made his favorite red-braised pork with her own hands and placed it before his memorial altar. She said Aqiang had been a devoted and filial boy. Even after he had gone, he still remembered home and had come back to say goodbye, to put her mind at ease.

Now, every year at the Qingming Festival, we visit Aqiang’s grave to pay our respects. My mother always brings a bowl of red-braised pork and places it in front of his grave, murmuring to him at length.

“Aqiang, Auntie has come to see you again. Everyone at home is doing well. You must take good care of yourself over there. Don’t worry about us anymore…”

I have always felt that Aqiang never truly left. He simply found another way to watch over us. That dream in the dead of night was the last expression of his loving concern for us and the warmest testament to familial love—even when the realms of the living and the dead lie apart, longing and love can still cross mountains and seas to reach one another’s hearts.